In the event of my death
by pretentious-emo-kid
Summary: Samcked. Alternative ending to 'all access'. Sad. Not too corny. My first story for this show.


A/N: This is my first story, not only for this ship, but also for this show. With that in mind, it's probably a slightly odd choice, what with it being so little, and so sad, but it came to me and refused to go away.

If you like it, tell me in a review. Or you can tell me to shove off back to House and NCIS, and stay there. :)

Basically, it's a rewrite of 'All Access' with a (slightly tragic) smacked spin on it.

Enjoy…

x

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She had expected pure pain; white, unblemished. She had not expected the ragged agony as the knife ripped between her ribs. She had not expected the bubbles of blood that gathered at the back of her throat, and popped, and foamed. She had not expected…well…she had not expected it to feel so much like…dying.

Summoning what she knew to be to be her very last vestiges of strength, she reached for the gun laying a few centimetres away, pressed it against his chest, and pulled the trigger as many times as she could manage, taking little satisfaction from the shock on his face.

He fell almost immediately, and his grip on the knife's handle never faltered. She felt it tear further into her flesh as he slid sluggishly to the floor, and the cruel sensation made her cry out. Pulling as far away as she could manage from the monster before her, she too collapsed onto the floor, and prepared to take her last breath.

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Mac raced up the stairs to the apartment. His tortured anxiety forced his breath into ragged gasps that set his lungs ablaze, but he didn't care. He barely registered the pain. He had one aim, and that was to make sure that Stella was alive and well.

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Through the dark blurriness, she could distinguish the unmistakable features of Mac Taylor. She should have been angry that he had not been quicker, that he had not been there, that he could not possibly save her, but as she assessed the situation, she could feel nothing other than gratitude that she would not have to die alone. That if she really must end her days on her living room floor, positioned entirely without grace between her couch and her insane ex, at least she could do it under the loving eyes of her handsome boy.

She wanted to say something to him, but she was long past that point. All she had strength for was one word – one tiny little word that literally robbed the last of her life, and yet, was whispered with more love than she had ever known possible.

"Mac…"

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It had been a while. He was not sure how many hours, how many days. All he knew was that he had could cry no longer, scream no longer. His head, throat and chest all burned with the pain of a thousand tears, and his once trembling hands were still now, not through calm, but through hollow resignation.

She

Was

Gone.

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He turned the envelope over and over in his hands. The delicate little manila pocket contained something he could not bring himself to look at. The mere sight of the slightly swirly script on the front of it brought a nauseating horror to the pit of his stomach.

_Mac Taylor_

_(To be opened in the event of my death.)_

He had no idea what had possessed her to write it. A mad concoction of his grieving mind suggested that it was all a cruel joke. That she had somehow known that she would be leaving the world; leaving him alone. The more he tried to make sense of it, the less sense it made. She was another pointless death, another angel destroyed by the evil whim of a being with no right to exist in the first place. It was all a mistake. It had to be.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he slipped his thumb under the flap of the envelope. Feeling the glue separate, he was suddenly acutely aware that her lips, her tongue had sealed this little piece of stationery. The thought almost stopped him in his tracks, but he continued; every fibre of his being now lingered in the hope that this letter would bring her back, if only temporarily.

The crinkle of the paper as he unfolded it seemed to echo thunderously around the room. He took his time. He had all the time in the world now. It was all he had.

_Dear Mac,_

_I know that it's pretty morbid of me to be to be writing this, but it's just been one of those days, and I'm more than usually aware of my own mortality._

_I'm also more than usually aware of some other things. Things that I can't seem to find the words to tell you face to face, so in an attempt to deal with them, I'm going to put them down here._

_I don't know when it happened, or how. It's one of those infuriating things that I just can't seem to understand. All I know is that one day, it happened._

_Sorry, I'm being cryptic. Be patient with me, buddy._

_All I want to say is that, one day you were Mac, you were my best friend, and the next, I loved you. Well, I always had, but now it was different. I really loved you._

_I love you._

_God, this is not going right. I think the best thing to do is seal this away and let you try and make sense of it if the worst comes to the worst. Hell, maybe I'll be able to articulate it well enough, one day that I'll tell you in person._

_Until then, look after yourself._

_Love,_

_Stella. x _

Feeling his knees buckle, he fell onto his bed, clutched the letter to his chest, and let grief-filled exhaustion wash over him.

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"Hey, you." Her voice was soft, but she was not. Curls bouncing vividly, smile wide and genuine, she was larger than life, and she was sat on the bed next to him.

"Hey, yourself," he murmured sleepily. She did not reply, but waited patiently as he pulled himself into a sitting position. "You're not real, are you?" It was a question full of hope.

"No," she replied brightly. "You're dreaming."

"Oh." He could think of nothing else to say.

"Oh, come on, Mac. Surely you can think of something better than that?" She shook her hair away from her face, as he had seen her do so many times before, and her eyes shone.

"Why? Why did it happen?" It was the question he had spent most of his life trying to answer, and yet, it had never seemed quite so relevant before.

"Because life is unfair. And death is really unfair. We just have to live it. Well, not me, personally."

"That's not funny."

"No? Too soon for jokes, I guess. Still you'll laugh about it in a few years time." She was talking as thought they were having a casual banter match over coffee. The thought that they would never again have such a conversation felt like a sledgehammer to his stomach.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"About what was in the letter? Oh, you know me. Loud on the outside, but inside, I'd never have plucked up the courage."

"I felt the same way. I loved you…I _love _you, so much. And now I can never tell you."

"No, but I think a little part of me," she showed an amount between her finger and thumb, "I think it knew all along." She leant over and planted a happy kiss on his cheek. "Well, I'd better be leaving. Gonna go talk politics with Elvis." She paused. "Again, you'll find it hilarious eventually."

She slid off the bed, and walked over to the doorway, stopping just before she left. "You know, Mac," she said, earnestly, "You'll be okay eventually."

And then she was gone all over again.

Mac looked at the door for a little while, before sliding back down onto the covers, and musing that, once again, Stella Bonasera was right about absolutely everything.


End file.
